entry | lightheaded

he told her he felt dizzy   

and then sat for a bit on her dorm couch   

then said he felt better.

she wanted to walk him back to his dorm.

but didn’t want to look clingy more.

entry | helicopter

he collapsed walking back to his dorm.   

she found him and carried him, or rather,   

supported him as they lurched to the student health center.   

they were told to go to the emergency room.

the emergency room told him to get on a helicopter right now.

it never occurred to her that

tears + rain + 85 mph =

she was in more danger than he was.

entry | the drive, hour two

her tears dried,

until she took the exit ramp with the green sign marked hospital.

she prayed, but suspected or knew no one was listening.

entry | hospital

he lay on that bed for two weeks, unable to speak.

she did the talking.

he got better.

entry | life went on

assignments forgotten; exams missed.

he did the work now to make up the work he couldn’t do then.

she got chewed out by her professors.

after all, they said, you weren’t even married.

entry | romance + jobs

she got a job at the school newspaper.   

  she got a job at the dining hall.   

she got a job at the tutoring center.

when she told him all this,   

she knew she would never forget

that look of pride and delight in his eyes.

entry | romance + cigarettes

you don’t want to do this, she said.

bad habit, no need to pass it on.

but he lit and inhaled, coughed and smiled.

feel like i’m finally breathing, he said.

entry | + more cigarettes

i’ve always loved the phrase grabbing a smoke, she said,

tracing her fingers through the air.

because you literally can’t.

it was illegal, expensive, and reckless.

they loved every second.

entry | never will we part

it wasn’t somewhere special.

no fancy restaurant, no hiking to a waterfall.

just a few steps outside her dorm.

it was quiet; they were alone.

he asked.

she said yes.

entry | honeymoon

only $400 for a week at a hotel paid for by his father;

too young to drink and parks starting at $79 a day.

nothing to do but watch reality tv and lay in each other’s arms.

it was not an exciting honeymoon; she knew that.

it was, however,

everything she hoped their marriage would be.

entry | the passed past

they’d both grown up in it. that helped.

but the same rituals, songs, and beliefs

still wormed their way through their memories.

but each day, she forgot more and more.

she was starting to feel free.

he, of course, struggled a bit more

to accept liberty.

entry | freedom qua freedom

years together, trapped.

but not trapped with each other.

trapped together.

we’ve got to find a way out of this,

she said one night.

i'll follow you anywhere you go, he said,

and meant it.

now she just had to figure out where to go.

entry | killing zombies

it had been maybe eight hours.

she wasn't sure.

sitting on that frayed couch in that rickety apartment,

playing that co-op game with him meant

that eight hours with him passed faster than one alone.

communication without the bother of conversation.

entry | like bullets

she counted her smokes like bullets.

this was a big test.

she could retake it upon a less than desirable result,

but that too felt like failure.

so she turned up the music in her ears,

loaded another bullet into her hands, and fired.

entry | numb

it was an entire semester’s worth of work,

she told him, all in one binder.

and she could do it maybe because of the pills.   

but she lost the binder

and her grade

and her world

and felt nothing.

that too, she swore to him, was because of the pills.

entry | swapping psych stories

after his parents’ divorce, he said,

he had to go to a therapist.

hated it, hated his parents, hated the whole thing.

she went, she said, because she hated her dad,

or her city, or her life, or herself.

what happened next? he asked.

we’re living it, she said.

entry | journalistic spells

she kept a journal once, she told him.

she put everything in there,

her secrets, her hopes, her fears.

they found it and made her go to therapy.

the best part, she giggled after she took a drag,

was that it was all made up.

the pills they made you take

weren’t made up though, he said.

entry | bought and bargained

grad school was hard.

fourteen-hour days hard. she did it, though.

he’d bring her meals, keep her spirits up.

she felt a mild panic all the time

wind itself around her ears and tickle her neck.

failure = going back home = worse than death,

so she worked herself to death.

a fair trade.

entry | bbq and beer

grades.

she was so nervous she puked twice.

gonna need more than two smokes to check,

she said.

she smoked them.

she checked.   

she cried.

top of class.

entry | onward/upward

it’s not a bad school, he said.

i know, she said,

but this one’s better.

more prestigious. a real fancy place.

i’ll support you either way,

he said, and she knew that was true.

the name’s part of you long after you’re dead, she said.

entry | alien residence

more classes, harder classes.

she was good at this, she knew that.

but something alien had crawled

into the back of her skull

and wouldn’t leave.

it’s not so bad, he said,

you always get good grades.

she believed him, and didn’t.

entry | stoop

she saw him off to work.

he promised to support her,

and he did.

she knew it was time for class,

time for the questioning.

i can do it, she thought,

then sat on the hard stone steps

in front of her apartment

for three hours,

unable to move.

entry | pills 1.0

take this, the psychiatrist said.

it’ll calm your nerves.

you’ll feel human again.

she took two.

the alien fell asleep.

entry | pills 2.0

gonna need stronger meds,

she said, and the doc agreed.

take this.

it’ll calm your brain.

make me happy? she said.

they do their best, the doc said.

entry | stranger/strange land

she had the loans to buy food and clothes

and splurge on cigarettes and booze.

he made enough to buy

all the other cigarettes and booze they needed.

there were a lot like her

and there were also a lot unlike her,

who had enough family funds

to buy all the cigarettes and beers

they would never need

entry | pills 3.0

i’ve got you on anti-depressants

and anti-anxieties, the doc said.

i can’t up it much more.

my brain is on fire, she said, but it wasn’t.

my lungs are collapsing, she said, but they weren’t.

i don’t know if i can carry on, she said.

and that was true.

entry | exams again

old hat, new game.

same format, same skills,

same two cigarettes,

same approach.

same grades.

huh, she said to him one night.

what?

i think i just might belong here after all.

entry | planned reunion

he did the planning.

his dad helped her get an apartment.

she knew enough to get on the bus,

enough to show up to her apartment,

and when to start work.

have you thought about what you’re going to eat?

i’m not really hungry, she said.

entry | grow fonder

big firm, big salary,

even though she wasn’t a lawyer yet.

just a dumb kid living in the big city,

away from him but calling every night.

the work wasn’t as hard as she expected.

being away from him

was harder than she expected.

entry | drinks on them

first night.

welcome event at local steakhouse.

open bar til midnight.

what happens at midnight?

she asked.

we go to another bar,

her new friend said.

entry | crazy night

it’s an awesome bar, someone said.

legendary. only 18 blocks. cheap drinks.

let’s go, she said.

beer/shot combos bar dancers

one of her friends pulled up on stage

whipped cream and swing and

beer/shot and flaming shots

and cigarettes and beer/shot

legendary, she told him on their call.

entry | karaoke in k-town

he was in town.

she was ecstatic.

going to be a rager, she said.

been like this all month.

he was excited.

private rooms and trays of booze

and adequate singing.    

now that, he said later, was legendary.

entry | offer . . .

all for this, she thought.

she sat in her office on the 54th floor

overlooking the city.

soon, she thought.   

someone stepped in.

please follow me.

entry | . . . acceptance.

no beating around the bush.

on the way to the hiring partner’s office,

she said she was nervous.   

oh, the partner said. i think you’ll be just fine.

at this, the alien behind her eyes yawned.

entry | in his arms

finally, finally.   

she was home, or rather,

back in the town where she went to school.

home was where he was, she thought.

that’s a stupid cliche, she thought,

but her smile when she saw him

waiting at the bus stop revealed it was true.

entry | home again

her skin always felt hot,

which made sense because it was hot outside.

she found it hard to breathe,

which made sense because

her lungs were always filled with smoke.

she felt an urge to go,

which would didn’t make sense

because she was already there.

entry | bar

you gotta meet my friends, he said.

they’re good guys.

hard drinkers, though.

she agreed.

on both counts.

couldn’t hold a candle to her, though.

entry | bar again

it’s not that expensive, she said.

it’s more expensive than home.

but it’s got music and people and life.

and you.

home has that too.

entry | bar still

it’s like pouring gasoline into my head

and the cigarette’s a match.

it’s like holding my head underwater

for an hour or two.

it’s like climbing into your own coffin every night, he said.

dirt dries; turns to dust.

coffins are the most exclusive

parties around, she said

entry | back to school

what’s even the point, she said.

i already have a job.

i know what i’m doing.

then challenge yourself, he said.

try something new.

try something hard.

or i could sleep, she said.

just for a year.

yeah, he said.

you could do that too.

entry | in her bones

hard to get up.    

up til four night before.

class still scheduled.

she went, he went to work.

after, he asked about her day.

it just started, she said.

i think i just woke up.

entry | relax

we’re drinkers, he said.

and smokers too.

  but not that kind of smoker.

i need to chill out, she said.

i need to feel nothing in my bones.

i thought that’s what the pills do.

the pills don’t do anything, she said.

entry | sleep

heavy blanket draped across her shoulders.   

long ago, 3 a.m.

she can't move her muscles

to get up and go to bed.

she can't make her fingers change the channel.

she can't make her eyes close.

entry | left for alive

normal day, normal dinner.

remember when we used to play

that zombie game together?

of course, he said.

i used to dream about being a warrior...

entry | left for alive too

… i used to dream about being powerful.   

like we could just run through the world untouchable.

and now?

now i feel like a zombie.

exhausted? worn out? undead?

yes, she said.

but i don’t think i’d mind

if someone took my head off.

entry | how they get you

she made it to class.

first time in weeks.

not sure what was going on.

not sure right class.

this class is about money, someone said.

okay, she said. she went for her purse.

no, they said.

we’re learning about it.

besides, you’ll be paying for it for a long time.

entry | walk v. walk

snow again. cold.

the walk to her next class

was only several hundred feet

in absolute terms,

but felt like far more.

not because of the weather.

i tried, she said,

and walked even further home.

entry | broken gps

i need a gps for my brain,

she said to herself,

sitting out behind the lecture hall

smoking a cigarette.

she smiled a bit.

she would have thought

more humorous thoughts,

but   

as she herself noted,

she couldn’t quite find her way to them.

entry | ditches

she slept through her alarm.

she slept through her other alarm.

it was just as well, she thought.

she would have just slept in class anyway.

entry | looming

graduation neared.

  she knew it would be time to leave

what never felt like home.

but a new world awaited.

they sat together on the couch.

things will be better

when i start working, she said.

i hope so, he said.

entry | ramp up

i feel itchy, she said.

mosquitos? take a shower, he said.

not that kind of itchy, she said.

more like ants are crawling through my brain.

get some sleep, he said.

you haven't slept much lately.

i don't feel tired, she said.

or i’m too tired to sleep.

entry | bugs and smoke

it’s like bees swirling in my head like ants creeping across my shoulders like shadows crawling into my eyes like spiders swirling up my legs like maggots caught in my mouth like

you need your pills, he said.

i think the pills are to blame, she said.

i’ll just light up.

does that make the bugs go away?

it makes them feel good, she said.

entry | watches

i don’t like it that much, he said.

makes me paranoid.

i like the paranoia, she said, exhaled.

makes me alert

don’t like you on it, he said.

that’s the paranoia talking.

entry | fever

my skin’s on fire, she said,

but cold baths made her sweat.

my brain’s on fire, she said,

but sleep ignored her eyelids.

you’re acting odd, he said.

she realized she hadn’t

said a word out loud

for 18 hours.

entry | awaken soon

classes continued.

she went, or not.

something was gestating inside her,

something she knew

would soon tear its way out.

you’re not pregnant, he said.

i know, she said.

whatever this is, it’s not a blessing.

entry | stressed

bees.

in her hair in her eyes in her throat in her brain at her thighs in her

you look strung out, he said.

she couldn’t hear him.

all she heard was buzzing.

entry | # u r trying

you got to talk to your folks, he said.

especially your dad.

i can’t remember the number.

he doesn’t want to talk to me.

i’m all alone.

you have me, he said.

i know, she said.

but you’re losing me

and I don’t know if i can stop it.

entry | not tired

remember when you were so tired? he said

you’re not tired now.

you’re not tired now.

who are you talking to?

the mirror doesn’t answer.

entry | raggedy

i can’t sleep, can barely eat, can almost hold still but my legs don’t want to stop shaking can’t breathe can’t quiet can’t let go can’t catch my breath can’t hit pause or snooze or

you’re looking a little ragged, he said.

but you’re so quiet.

i don’t feel quiet, she said.

or maybe didn’t.

entry | desserts

i’m so mixed up, she said.

everything is moving forwards

and backwards all at once.

i’m ripped apart falling broken

can’t be put back together

entry | unmoored   

I can feel the room spin break

Apart and Everything falls but

I stand hear the air feel the blood

Senses burn into pieces and reconnect

Not much more than Moments exist

Undaunted by time or Her place

Plates spin without hands

You and I are travelers -

what’s that you’re writing, he said.

glances down, speaks softly, asks

is this English?

Entr[00255] how anne feels

skcslsp7s4 | tkllvvv11

bpopoqqqssdd | opuuuaua

what? he asked.

i like the soft ones better, she said.

entry | kckckcckc

the

crushing

cacophony

of her

cluttered

conscience

kept her

caught in

coffins

of her own

creation

entry | time is

freight train come closer, she said.   

and break my legs so i can’t move

for the second pass.

you’re looking more ragged, he said.   

time heals broken bones, she said.

or it doesn’t.

entry | drugs

i went walking downtown

and tried to score some crazy drugs

and it was a rush

and I felt invincible

like wonder woman and

not a skinny chick and

when did you go downtown?

this morning!

it’s 8:30 am . . .   

right!

did you get any drugs?

yup!

entry | too much

i think the panic is setting in again, she said.

what about? he asked.

moneyjobhealthcigsboozesexfuturecarworkpainsleepbreathecantnamegenderbrokendogsystemthoughtsfuturemoneyjobhealthcigsboozesexfuturecarworkpainsleepbreathecantnamegenderbrokendogsystemthoughtsfuturemoneyjobhealthcigsboozesexfuturecarworkpainsleepbreathecantnamegenderbrokendogsystemthoughtsfuture

oh, he said.

that’s a lot.

that’s not even half of it, she said.

entry | you & me

i can feel my toes starting to curl

but im not moving my body

my lips crack when im not looking

my heart breaks when you’re

”Oh, Jesus Christ, Anne,” he said.

“You gotta get out of your goddamn head once in a while.

And don’t say something clever

like ‘that’s the problem, i can’t tell where i am anymore’.”

Time passed.

entry |  carry on

“Do you think I’ll ever be okay?” she asked .

“Of course,” he said.

“You carry us.

And when you can’t carry me anymore,

I’ll carry you.”

Anne nodded, smiled. “Crazy adventure so far?”

“Wouldn’t trade it for all the world,” he said.   

“You’re worth more than all the worlds to me,” Anne said.

“So what’s next?” he asked.

“More of the same.

The good, the bad, all of it.

I wouldn’t trade a second,” she said, smiling.

“But let’s make it better each time.”